I Write Poetry

Sitting in the dark,
as much as our sanity permits,
We ponder beauty in a broken mirror,
its jagged shards and bits.

Each one is like a key,
to a different prison cell,
Each shows a different face,
each hides a different hell.

Our heart, our soul, our mind,
we don't know who to trust,
as we take the mirror pieces,
and grind them slowly into dust.

An hourglass of madness,
through which it softly fell,
lies answers to the riddles,
which the fates will never tell.

There is beauty in our darkness,
and that's what we're afraid of,
In the stars, scars, and bleeding hearts,
that all of us are made of.

What it is to hold that beauty,
I feel I'll never know,
My hopes and dreams inside my veins,
I fear I must spill, and forever so forego.